Marshall Ramsey

It was simply a case of mistaken anonymity.

“Aren’t you?…”  The 20-something woman asked the man trying to get a guitar case out of the back of his silver Honda CR-V.

The 40-something man smiled and said, “Clint Black?”

“Who?” she said, cocking her head.

“I’m Clint Black. Alan Jackson’s half brother.”

“Who’s Alan Jackson?”

He noticed her T-shirt — on it was the latest country music supergroup.  That was the problem with country music these days. It was a profession for the young and pretty. And most of the time, the auto-tuned.  Hank Williams never would have gotten a record contract unless he pinned his ears back. He had no looks and too much talent.

“Alan Jackson is Garth Brooks’ manager.”

“I know Garth Brooks.  He plays in Vegas.”

Johnny Cotton sighed and said, “That’s right. And I’m not him.  Who’s playing tonight?”

The girl shrugged and said, “I dunno. Some guy I had never heard of. My friends say he used to be famous.  I think his name is Johnny Polyester.”

Johnny cringed at the name. That had been his not-so-kind nickname in the 90’s when his star was starting to wobble. The record label had him wearing polyester jumpsuits that would have made Elvis cringe.

“I think you meant, ‘Johnny Cotton.'”

“Well, I hope Johnny Wool is good. I think he had a few hits when I was in elementary school.”

Johnny cringed again.

She continued, “I’m here to meet friends anyway. Thank you, Mr. Black. Sure I can’t help you with that? You know, you kinda remind me of one of my father’s friends.”

Ouch. Johnny winced.  He had gone from being an irresistible country star to someone’s dad’s friend.

“I’ll tell your dad hi. Enjoy the show.”

Getting old wasn’t for sissies.  And in Nashville, it was hazardous for your career.

His mind flashed back to a vision of semis full of equipment and tour buses. He heard the thousands of screaming fans. He saw the screaming women throwing undergarments on stage.  Last week in Little Rock, a woman had thrown her granny panties at him. They took out his microphone stand and nearly his head.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

Johnny Cotton had once topped the charts. Now he was carrying his own gear into an old railroad station-turned bar in Jackson, Mississippi.

Johnny once thought his career was a straight line.  Now he knew it was a big, fat circle.

In the late 1980’s he had been discovered in this very bar by a friend of singer/songwriter/musician/producer/Coral Reefer Mac McAnally.  An agent called him the following week and before he could say, “Nashville,” he was surrounded by the best songwriters on Music Row.  His first hit, “Your Heart is as Cold as My Beer,” soared to #1. He went from small dives to giant arenas. He even grew a mullet. The polyester and rhinestones came after the fourth album, Johnny Cotton Gin. That CD didn’t sell well and was the start of his chart-banishment. That’s when  Johnny became Johnny Alcohol.  His high school sweetheart (and bride) Ann left him later that year after she found him in bed with a flight attendant.  His fans left him soon after that. Johnny would never forget the look on his agent’s face when the record company dropped him.  His big house in Franklin, Tennessee was auctioned off.  The agent left soon after that.  He burned his polyester jumpsuits in the driveway.  All he had was a leased car, ashes, burnt rhinestones and a bottle of Jack.

“You Johnny? I’m Malcolm.”

The nice man introduced himself as he opened the metal door. “And welcome to Jackson. Can I help you get your stuff in?”

“I’m good. It’s good to be back home. I’m sorry to hear about Hal.” Johnny acknowledged the recent tragic loss of Malcolm’s brother Hal. “He was a great man who also made great soup.”

Malcolm smiled and said as he walked away, “Thank you. And thank you for playing tonight. Look forward to your set.” Johnny nodded and stopped to look around the restaurant. He smelled the gumbo and looked at all the signatures on the bricks.  He had signed that wall many, many years ago.  It was right before the great fall.

Some musicians liked drugs, but not Johnny. He preferred to get stoned the old fashioned way — booze.  His star had rapidly risen and burned out like an alcohol-fueled meteorite tumbling out of the sky. He crashed his leased car one night on Highway 49 in the Mississippi Delta. In typical Johnny Cotton bad luck, he hit the only tree for miles. When he woke up, he staggered out of the crumpled BMW and into the Delta Flats Baptist church. He looked at the stained glass Christ and proceeded to throw up on the floor. He laid his head on a King James Bible which just happened to be turned to Matthew 25: 14-30.

“If you were praying for a miracle, you got one. It’s a miracle you didn’t kill anyone or yourself.”

Johnny rubbed his aching head as the pastor talked loudly, “Ironic you landed on the Parable of the Talents ’cause you sure ain’t using yours.”

Great. Now he had disappointed God, too.

The pastor smiled, “God’s not disappointed, boy. He just wants you to use the talents He gave you. Drinking like a thirsty fish ain’t going to cut it anymore.”

“How did you know what I was thinking?”

“I used to sin just like you, son.”

The pastor handed Johnny a slip of paper with the letters “AA” and a phone number. “Give me a call when  you’re ready.”

He shook his head and began to set up.

“Would you like a beer?” the bartender kindly offered a draft.

Johnny clutched his AA chip and said, “No thank you.”

He was a washed-up has-been drunk. But he felt a peace about himself he never felt before.  Before, he had waited for someone else to bring him his songs.  Now, well, now, he did something he had always wanted to do.

He wrote his own music.

Johnny looked around the bar and restaurant and noticed a crowd filing in. Tonight would be a full house full of old friend and old fans. People still wanted to come to hear the old songs. Songs that he would play them for them all night long. But it was the new stuff that lit his fire.  It was the music that came from his heart. And tonight, he had a special new song he was going to play.

If his old career was artificial strawberry flavoring, this one was like fresh strawberries. One was man made. The other came from somewhere bigger than himself.

He thought of his ex-wife and son. They had moved from Nashville back to where they’d grew up in Mississippi. The small town of French Camp was up the Natchez Trace  from Jackson and had a premier observatory nearby.  He paused and wondered if Ann would come tonight. He had not seen her since she had walked out on that stormy night so many years ago.   He had heard from his ex-mother-in-law that she had remarried and then divorced again. He almost felt sorry for the guy. How can you compete against a voice on the radio?

He plugged in his amp and strummed the guitar.  He listened to the subtle differences between strings and tuned it accordingly.  He sipped from his water bottle and put the guitar on its stand. Now all he had to do was wait for the crowds to come.

When 9:00 p.m. came around, Johnny opened with “Your Heart is as Cold as My Beer,” and received a rousing ovation.  He told a few stories about the early days and proceeded to sing a couple more songs. Then he began his newest song by saying, “I’d like to dedicate this to Ann.” He  looked out in the audience and hoped to see her face.  Nothing.

He gulped and started singing the song anyway.

When I was numb and did not feel.

It was your love that helped me heal.

And when my life needed a lift.

Your heart helped me use my gift. 

Because I never truly knew how to live

Until the day you taught me how to give

I thought you were lost forever from my heart.

But you were always there from the very start.

Your loving touch eased my pain

And washed away my sins like a cleansing rain.

I was once a conceited, broken man.

But because of your love, I’m a second-half man. 

Now you’ve taught me what’s truly real

That the pursuit of fame isn’t the true deal.

And like the gentleness of a dove.

I know my true power comes from your love. 

Your loving touch eased my pain

And washed away my sins like a cleansing rain.

I was once a conceited, broken man.

But because of your love, I’m a second-half man.

The crowd sat stunned by the beauty of the song. And when the last note rang out, they gave him rousing  ovation. Johnny stood there, stunned. He knew he had created something special.  He watched the cheering people with tears in his eyes as the crowd magically began to part like the Red Sea.

And there, with tears streaming down her beautiful cheeks, was Ann. She rushed the stage and wrapped her arms around Johnny’s neck.  She held him forever as the crowd burst into cheers.

Success is a funny, fickle thing. The 20-something woman from the parking lot had videoed the song (and reunion with Ann) and posted it on YouTube.  And thanks to the power of Twitter and Facebook, the video went viral. In three weeks, it had over 1,000,000 hits. By the end of the month, Pacific Records resigned Johnny Cotton and released Second Act Man as a single. It became his fifth #1 single and won a Grammy for best Country Song. It was even used in a Kevin Costner movie.  Costner loved the song so much that he agreed to star in the official video.  Ann and Johnny remarried that fall with the Delta Flats pastor officiating. Clint Black was the best man (He and his wife Lisa Hartman sang, “When I Say I Do,” during the ceremony.) The 2o-something woman from the parking lot caught the bouquet.   Johnny and Ann (and their son Jack and a baby on the way) continue to live in French Camp.  On particularly dark nights, Johnny and Jack like to go to the observatory and look at the Milky Way.  And when they see a falling star, Johnny reminds Jack that sometimes stars can rise back into the sky and be a second act man.